"Layla Vivienne Evans!" Soul hollered from the kitchen, glare intent on keeping the english muffin in the toaster from becoming the wrong shade of toasted.

"Papa, another minute!" The willful call came right back, melodious but with just enough obstinance that Soul had to roll his eyes.

As the revolution finished, Soul spat out a laugh. Death, I'm turning into my own mother. "Bug, let's go! Especially if you want me to do your hair."

That brought thundering feet, Layla instantly in the doorway. "You'll do the fishtail?" She waggled the comb at him.

"Well…" He nodded towards the table. Layla took the command, slipping into the chair as Soul popped the last piece of Layla's breakfast onto a plate. He slid it in front of her before going back to the sink to wash his hands. "Grandpa Julien will be here in thirty." After drying them and coming back to the table, Layla offered up the comb and he accepted. "Fishtail for sure?"

"Fishtail." With that she started to nibble on a strip of bacon.

He ran the comb through those wavy ebony locks a few times before tucking it in his pocket. As he'd done a million times before, he started to divvy up the hair between his fingers. "I'll pick you up tomorrow–probably after lunch."

"Is Miss Melanie or Uncle Remy going to be there?"

"Dunno." Soul continued to weave the strands together, holding his breath for what he already knew was coming.

"It's boring with just Grandpa Julien," she mumbled through a mouthful.

Soul let out a withering sigh, the ache in his lungs barely abating with the new inhale. "Bug, it's just good for Grandma Flora to see you, you know that."

Layla pushed the food on her plate in silence, leaving Soul's gut to continue to churn as he finished up her long-awaited braid. "She doesn't even remember me. Or Mommy." It was a delicate whisper, but one that created another crack in his heart.

"Yeah, I know." He tied off the end before leaning into her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Her fingernail ran along the edge of the plate before toying with a crumb of her english muffin. "Can you at least tell Grandpa Julien that I can have more than one scoop of ice cream for dessert?"

Soul snorted a laugh. "Yeah, sure, bug. And if you live through it all, I'll give you an extra scoop tomorrow night too."

That seemed enough placation, getting Layla's fingers back to work on her food. After a few more bites, Soul released her to take another look at his handiwork for fly-aways. "What about Grandmama and Pop?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans are still busy traipsin' around Paris," Soul muttered before turning back towards the counter to grab his quickly cooling coffee cup. He sucked in a bitter swig before continuing: "Why, miss 'em?"

Layla raised tired eyes to him, her normally perky cupid-bow lips flat with a frown.

And now she's turning into me. He snickered. "Next weekend. But Grandmama didn't say anythin' about draggin' you to another tea party or ice cream social, so we'll see if you're even summoned."

She heaved a sigh before stuffing the last bit of bacon in her mouth. Thoughtful chewing seemed to end the conversation, Soul just watching her as he sipped his coffee. "Can't I just come to Uncle Blake's party with you?"

"No kids allowed," he answered quickly. Trust me, bug, I asked, but I can't get off the hook for this one.

"Fine." Layla wiped her mouth before hopping off the chair and moving past him to wash her hands. Once clean, she used those fingers to play with the end of her braid, finally letting a smile grace her lips. "Thanks for the braid, Papa."

His only answer was to sling an arm around her, pulling the girl to his side.

She sunk into him sweetly, arms circling his waist. "You'll tell me all about it, right?"

"Who the hell else would I talk to?" He toyed with the baby hairs near her ear.

Layla flinched, and while Soul was tempted to laugh and tease her for tickling, it was those dark green eyes popping up to appraise him that quieted anything more. A dark cloud hung over her brow for a moment. "Papa, promise me you'll have fun at the party."

A dry bit of air only loosely resembling a laugh left his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shook her head. "Promise me."

He plopped a hand on her head, smoothing back her hair. "Well, yeah. Parties are supposed to be fun, so I'll have fun."

Not a word of that placated her, just more hard glaring in his direction.

He tried to cover her silence with another sip of coffee, but urgent fingers dug into his t-shirt to give it a tug. Soul looked from cup to child, a sigh fluttering over his lips. "I'll try, okay? You know I don't make promises I can't keep so I promise to try to have fun."

Layla echoed him with her own huff of air before she squeezed him tightly. "Can I call Aunt Liz before I go?"

Great, I'm getting tattled on. Soul reached into his pocket, producing his cellphone and dangling it in front of her. "As soon as Grandpa Julien gets here, you're gettin' off."

Regardless of the warning, Layla plucked the phone from his fingers and made stubborn steps out of the kitchen.


Staring in the mirror had done nothing for him for the past fifteen minutes. He knew another five or ten wasn't going to change that, but all he did was wobble slightly on his feet. The phone trilled behind him from the bed, ripping him from whatever reflected fantasy he was thinking up to stare at the screen. "Great," he muttered as he picked up and brought the phone to his ear.

"Please tell me you're dressed."

"Yeah," Soul grumbled.

"And you have your keys in your hand and you're about to drive over here."

He looked down at an empty palm. "Maybe."

"Soul–" That all too familiar groan of his name reverberated off the line, Liz always reaching that boiling point with him three sentences into any conversation. "You've hit fashionably late. You're bordering on 'he's a hermit, so of course he's not going to come.'"

Maybe I like being a hermit. He swallowed that, wanting to save his eardrums from another violent outburst. "It's just some 'getting to know you' thing so what's the big deal?" As if Liz's gonna enjoy hearing that, either.

Clacking steps echoed on the other side of the phone, followed by a whoosh that he was sure was the sliding door to Blake's balcony. "The big deal is that Mini-Viv is worried about you, and she's right! You haven't been out in months, and we both know even before then you were just catching a show at a jazz club or some beat poetry reading at the university, not socializing."

"I'm a hermit, remember?" he muttered.

"You know, I remember this guy who used to be pretty cool, ride his motorcycle around, drink enough beer to keep up with Blake." Liz broke for an almost wistful sigh. "Then Layla."

"Car seats don't fit on motorcycles," Soul replied coldly. "And whether she's Mini-Viv or not–"

"You don't get it," Liz pushed back against any of his willfulness with her own. "She's not a toddler anymore, and at this point, she's too smart for her own good. She knows you're lonely. She can tell, and I'm starting to get the feeling that she thinks it's her fault."

"Dr. Marie didn't say anything about that," he murmured.

"It's not the shrink's job to always clue you in, Soul," she spat before huffing out another sigh. "I'm sorry. Just– come here, will you? I swear to Death I'll leave you alone for a week if you just step foot in this apartment in the next twenty minutes."

Soul hung up and jammed the phone in his pocket. I guess I really don't have a fuckin' clue. He thought about that pleading glare from this morning and the promise he couldn't make. With a sigh, he grabbed his keys.